


You've Got That Kind of Mouth

by scioscribe



Category: L.A. Confidential (1997)
Genre: Gay Bar, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Not Canon Compliant, Period-Typical Homophobia, Undercover As Gay, Unresolved Emotional Tension, Unresolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-30
Updated: 2017-10-30
Packaged: 2019-01-18 11:19:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,425
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12387024
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/scioscribe/pseuds/scioscribe
Summary: He doesn't give a damn about the case, but he likes watching Exley flirt.





	You've Got That Kind of Mouth

**Author's Note:**

  * For [skazka](https://archiveofourown.org/users/skazka/gifts).



> No specific point of divergence from canon, more just "Jack and Ed's informal partnership lasts a little bit longer."
> 
> Happy Halloween!

Exley’s like one of those savage, yappy little terriers: you can kick him away all you want, but one day you’ll look down and his teeth will be in your ankle bone-deep. He says he needs Jack because no other cop is going to go with him to put in unpaid overtime on a queer killing; he says each word so crisply it’s like he’s biting into an apple. Jack says no other cop will go with Exley period. All the more reason to do it, Exley says.

For all his faults—and the kid is nothing but faults—Exley is a useful ace up his sleeve, at least potentially. Jack doesn’t know how Ed feels about loyalty, but anybody paying even a little attention knows how Ed feels about keeping score. He’ll do a favor for a favor if it doesn’t cost him too much. As far as that goes, Jack likes his style, they’re simpatico.

And then there’s this: he doesn’t give a damn about the case, but he likes watching Exley flirt.

They’re in a fairy hangout deep in Hollywood. The drinks are stingy and expensive but the company is oh-so-pretty.

(“Is anyone inside going to recognize you?” Exley says before they go in. He’s adjusting his cuffs. He arranges his clothes like he has money even though Jack’s seen all his suits on the rack in one department store or another. Maybe he’s practicing for being governor, but men who want to be governor don’t go to dives and act like they’ll consider sucking cock in the bathroom. Come to think of it, Jack doesn't know what Ed wants in the long run.

Exley distracts him. He doesn’t know why. “What?”

“I said,” and there’s a thin wire of impatience in his voice now, “is anyone here going to _recognize_ you?”

“This is movie-star turf,” Jack says. “They kick the TV boys a little further down Wilshire. No _Badge of Honor_ guest star is going to start yelling out that I’m a cop, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

The way Exley studies him, those cool eyes trained on him for just a second, Jack suddenly thinks Exley might have meant something else.)

Exley fits in. He shouldn’t, even with his looks and his cashmere sweater and that fucking mouth. Whatever anybody else thinks, Jack knows better: Exley is a cop down to his bones. Cut him and he would bleed nothing but ambition and moral clarity. Faggots ought to be able to sniff him out as a survival mechanism if nothing else, but it’s like everybody in this joint’s got the scent of him drowned out by all the damn cologne.

“I’d like to hear more about that,” Exley says. He lays his arm along the bar. How does he know to do that, show off those hands of his? The guy he’s eyefucking evaluates him like he’s a horse, appraising him for length of bone when what he ought to be paying attention to is the teeth. Exley’s not freely given. Exley has all kinds of strings attached.

But he must come out a thoroughbred, because the guy, a real slick item in a pale gray suit, stacks his hand on top of Ed’s. “Most people aren’t such good listeners.”

“True.” Exley laughs. It’s new information to Jack that he even can, so he almost hates that Exley wasted himself on such a cheap line. Unless, that is, he’s laughing to himself, thinking what a bore this guy is. “Maybe they don’t know what’s worth hearing.”

“And what is?”

Here, Jack’s convinced, is where Exley is going to blow it, and he’s glad. Let Exley bite down too hard on the bait and get himself thrown out. Jack will finish up his all-too-appropriate sidecar and stop playing backup. He’ll be glad to be given the bum’s rush.

But fuck him if Exley doesn’t lower his eyelashes like some high school cheerleader. “Maybe… whatever you have to say.”

The tip of Slick’s tongue touches his lips. He’s like a snake tasting the air. He’s getting mouse when he should be getting mongoose.

Half an hour, Jack has to watch this. He goes through three drinks, pacing himself, careful: okay, Jacky-boy, no more than one every fifteen minutes, fuck it, every _ten_. No one approaches him because, he tells himself, he’s giving off the wrong signal. Not cop, no, he doesn’t think they can tell that with him. Obsessive. This isn’t a rough-and-tumble kind of place, the boys who like danger go somewhere else. They all give Jack a wide berth.

He wonders how Exley is planning on cooling this guy down now that he’s got him revved up. He isn’t worried, he thinks, not for a second.

But for a second he does think of Ed Exley on his knees on the scuzzy tiles of some fag bar bathroom floor, Exley with his hand to his mouth wiping it clean again. The kid commits, no one can say he doesn’t. What’s a little dick in the name of truth, justice, and the American way? Ed might even let the guy mess up his hair.

He’s holding the glass too tightly.

But it’s only two drinks later that Ed is putting his hand to Slick’s chest and laughing a little, pushing him back. He has that fucking smile on his face again. He comes back over to Jack, and thankfully doesn’t try to sell the return by sliding onto his lap. He might not like what he found there.

Exley’s mouth barely moves when he says, “Put your hand on my waist and kiss me.”

Jack half-laughs. “No chance.”

“Dammit, Jack, this isn’t the time.”

When he still doesn’t do it, Exley does it himself—leans forward and put his hot mouth against Jack’s, breathes whiskey breath against his lips. Playing the twink or not, Exley takes his drinks straight, either because he knows a contradiction makes him interesting or because he’s too stupid to think about it. He’s not stupid. Jack might be, by the time this kiss is over with.

His right hand finds Exley’s waist and pulls him in closer. It lasts a few more seconds; then Ed breaks away from him.

“Told you I’d come back,” Ed says.

Jack spends a moment trying to find a referent for this, something particular to them, and then realizes Ed’s playing to the crowd. His head feels glassy. Maybe he’s drunk, or at least he should start trying to convince himself he is.

He knows what Exley wants from him.

“So let’s get out of here, then.”

Ed’s teeth, when he smiles, are perfectly white. “Thought you’d never ask.”

The night outside is so sticky-humid it feels like a sweaty hand dragging across Jack’s skin. They get to the car without talking, and then, once the doors are closed, Ed goes into a spiel about what he’s learned. Jesus, you’d think butter wouldn’t melt in his mouth. You sure as hell wouldn’t know about what else he can do with it.

Exley says queer murders are on the rise and no one cares.

“You sure care,” Jack says lightly.

“Grow up, Jack. A string of solved homicides will make anybody’s name, and we have all the better chance of turning them from to red to black since no one else is even looking. Besides. I don’t see why we should let somebody get away with murder just because the LAPD doesn’t get all hot-and-bothered about his victims.”

“Right.”

Ed adjusts his collar. “Believe it or not, we just got a fair amount of information.”

He doesn’t miss the way Exley always says “we.” He doesn’t miss it, but he doesn’t comment on it either.

With his head the way it is, he should let Exley drive, but he wants to be in charge of something. Make some kind of decision. He doesn’t know how they ended up this way.

“I wanted to thank you,” Ed says suddenly. “For coming with me.”

“Sure thing.”

“I mean it.”

“You mean everything, kid, it’s part of your very dubious charm.”

“Remember that and maybe next time you won’t hesitate so much before sampling the merchandise,” Ed says. He’s looking out the window. The car is too dark for Jack to tell whether or not he’s blushing, but he imagines yes. His grip on the wheel feels steadier. Their path is a clear arrow straight down their lane. Oh, he thinks, he knows where they’re going. He presses down, just slightly, on the gas.


End file.
